temptible sounds; yet in such a situation, and with all the images of danger and horror to which it leads, I question whether there is another sound so dreadfully sublime. The soft and placid tone of the human voice is surely not sublime; yet in the following passage, which of the great images that precede it is so powerfully so? It is a passage from the first book of Kings, in which the Deity is described as appearing to the prophet Elijah. "And he said, Go forth, and stand upon the mount be"fore the Lord. And behold, the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake "in pieces the rocks before the Lord; but the Lord was "not in the wind: and after the wind an earthquake ; "but the Lord was not in the earthquake: and after the 66 earthquake a fire; but the Lord was not in the fire: "and after the fire a still small voice. And it was so, "when Elijah heard it, that he wrapped his face in his "mantle.". 66 Another great division of sounds is into grave and acute. If either of these classes of sound is sublime in itself, it should follow, according to the general laws of sensation, that the other should not be so. In fact, however, the sublime is found in both, and perhaps it may be difficult to say to which of them it most permanently belongs. Instances of this kind are within the reach of every person's observation. In the same manner, it may be observed, that the most common, and, in general, the most insignificant sounds become sublime, whenever they are associated with images belonging to power, or danger, or melancholy, or any other strong emotion, although in other cases they affect us with no emotion whatever. There is scarcely in nature a more trifling sound than the buzz of flies, yet I believe there is no man of common taste, who, in the deep silence of a summer's noon, has not found something strikingly sublime in this inconsiderable sound. The falling of a drop of water, produces in general a very insignificant and unexpressive sound; yet sometimes in vaults, and in large cathedrals, a single drop is heard to fall at intervals, from the roof, than which, I know not if there is a single sound more strikingly sublime. One can scarcely mention a sound less productive of the sublime, than the sound of a hammer. How powerfully, however, in the following description, has Shakspeare made this vulgar sound sublime! From camp to camp, through the foul womb of night, The hum of either army stilly sounds, That the fix'd sentinels almost receive The secret whispers of each other's watch. Fire answers fire, and through their paly flames Each battle sees the other's umber'd face; With busy hammers, closing rivets up, Give dreadful note of preparation. Henry V. act iii. Chorus. The sound of oars in water is surely very far from being sublime, yet in a tragedy of Thomson's, this sound is made strikingly sublime, when (in the person of a man who had been left by the treachery of his companions upon a desert island,) he describes the horrors he felt, when he first found his being deserted: and adds, I never heard A sound so dismal as their parting oars. Instances of the same kind are so numerous, that it is unnecessary to insist upon them. If sounds are sublime in themselves, independently of all association, it seems difficult to account for contrary sounds producing the same effect, and for the same sounds producing different effects, according to the associations with which they are connected. 3. When such associations are dissolved, the sounds themselves cease to be sublime. There are many cases, undoubtedly, in which this experiment cannot be made, because in many cases the connexion between such sounds, and the qualities they indicate, is constant and invariable. The connexion between the sound of thunder, of a whirlwind, of a torrent, of an earthquake, and the qualities of power, or danger, or awfulness, which they signify, and which the objects themselves permanently involve, is established not by man, but by nature. It has no dependence upon his will, and cannot be affect led by any discipline of his imagination. It is no wonder, therefore, while such connexions are so permanent, that the sublimity which belongs to the qualities of the objects themselves, should be attributed to their external signs, and that such signs should be considered in themselves as fitted to produce this emotion. The only case in which these associations are positively dissolved, is when, by some error of judgment, we either mistake some different sound for the sound of any of these objects, or are imposed upon by some imitation of these sounds. In such cases, I think it will not be denied, that when we discover our mistake, the sounds are no longer sublime. There is nothing more common than for people who are afraid of thunder, to mistake some very common and indifferent sound for it; as the rumbling of a cart, or the rattling of a carriage. While their mistake continues, they feel the sound as sublime: the moment they are undeceived, they are the first to laugh at their error, and to ridicule the sound which occasioned it. Children at first are as much alarmed at the thunder of the stage, as at real thunder. Whenever they find that it is only a deception, they amuse themselves with mimicking it. It may be observed also, that very young children show no symptoms of fear or admiration at thunder, unless perhaps when it is painfully loud, or when they see other people alarmed about them; obviously from their not having yet associated with it the idea of danger and perhaps also from this cause, that our imagination assists the report, and makes it appear much louder than it really is; a circumstance which seems to be confirmed by the common mistake we make of very inconsiderable noises for it. Mistakes in the same manner are often made in those countries where earthquakes are common, between very inconsiderable sounds, and that low rumbling sound which is said to precede such an event. There cannot be a doubt, that the moment the mistake is discovered, the noise ceases to be sublime. In all other cases of the same kind, where mistakes of this nature happen, or where we are deceived by imitation, I believe it is agreeable to every person's experience, that while the mistake continues, the sounds affect us as sublime; but that as soon as we are undeceived, and that the sign is found not to be accompanied with the qualities usually signified, it ceases immediately to affect us with any emotion. • If any sounds were in themselves sublime, or fitted by the constitution of our nature to produce this emotion, independently of all association, it would seem that there could be no change of our emotion, and that these sounds would as permanently produce their correspon`dent emotion, as the objects of every other sense produce their correspondent ideas. In all cases, however, where these associations are either accidental or temporary, and not, as in the former case, permanent in their nature, it will be found, that sounds are sublime only, when they are expressive of qualities capable of producing some powerful emotion, and that, in all other cases, the same sounds are simply indifferent. In some of the instances formerly mentioned, where common or vulgar sounds are rendered sublime by association, it is obvious that the same sounds in general, when they have no such expression to us, are very different from sublimity. The buzz of flies, the dropping of water, the sound of a hammer, the dashing of an oar, and many others which might easily be mentioned, are in general sounds absolutely indifferent, and so far from possessing any sublimity in themselves, that it might be difficult at first to persuade any man that they could be made so. Their sublimity therefore can only be attributed to the qualities which they signify. There are few sounds, in the same manner, much more sublime, than the striking of a clock at midnight. In other situations the very same sound is altogether different in its expression. In the morning it is cheerfulat noon indifferent, or at least unnoticed. In the evening plaintive-at night only sublime. In the tolling of a bell, the sound is uniformly the same; yet such a sound has very different expressions, from the peculiar purposes to which it is applied. The passing bell, and the funeral bell, alone are sublime. The whistling of the wind in an autumnal, or in a wintry night, is often felt as sublime, and has accordingly been frequently introduced into poetical descriptions of a similar character. The nicest ear, howev er, is unable to distinguish any difference betwixt this sound, in the seasons before mentioned, and in spring or summer, when, if it has any character at all, it has a character very different from sublimity. The trumpet is very generally employed in scenes of magnificence or solemnity. The sound of the trumpet in such situations is |